Reunion of classmates after 49 years

By Yi Woo-won

On that sweltering afternoon of July 13, 1994, I was in Daegu, rushing down the sizzlingly hot asphalt streets to attend a very special gathering. The temperature reached 39.4 degrees Celsius ― a record high of the last 52 years. But the heat didn't bother me much, because my mind was fully occupied thinking of those childhood friends I was going to meet shortly. We hadn't seen each other for 49 years after finishing elementary school.

We had lost contact with each other because of the unhappy turbulent years that followed school. With the surrender of Japan at the mercy of atomic bombs in World War II, our country was finally liberated from Japanese occupation in 1945. But all too soon, the country was occupied again by the Allied Powers and divided into two Koreas, separating compatriots and bringing about eventually the deadly Korean War (1950-1953). Laconically, our generation was utterly ill-fated, as it was in the worst periods of contemporary Korean history experiencing humiliation, loss of identity, oppression, confusion, destitution and the fratricidal war.

I had no difficulty in locating the shop in the alley off a main street, where I had been notified to come for the meeting. A woman who looked like an assistant led me into a dimly-lit room in the back of the shop. There were already three people in the room but I didn't recognize anyone of them. They also stared at me as if I was a total stranger. Standing in the doorway, wondering if I was at a wrong place, suddenly it dawned on me that perhaps my old Japanese name might ring a bell to them. So, when I said my previous name at the primary school was Mitzui Kensuke, they all sprang up from their seats and came up to me, hugging me and holding my hands. I was really thrilled when they still remembered my old Japanese name after half a century.

Minutes later, more people showed up to join us. But as I did before, they all stood at the door, scrutinizing us incredulously, and hesitated to come in. They also had to give us their Japanese names or a nicknames or anything else that could conjure up memories about them from our schooldays. As we sat around talking about our old school building and former teachers, we remembered our classroom on the second floor of an old two-story wooden building. We also recalled vividly that the main entrance of the building was always hung with posters and banners, bearing radical wartime slogans such as “naisen ittai” (the United Body of Japan and Korea) and “beiei gekimetzu” (Exterminate the American and British Devils). We used to recite the slogans when we walked by.

Though we were in our mid-60s with gray hair and wrinkles, we were childlike at that emotional reunion of childhood friends. We felt a strong attachment to those days at school. Of a total of 15 alumni that had been traced, 11 turned up. Among them was one whose name sounded particularly familiar to me. His name was Shimamoto. He told me later that we used to practice calligraphy together in class and at my house after school. I learned later that evening he was an economics professor with a doctorate. I felt flattered when he remembered that one of my calligraphic works had won an award from the Japanese provincial governor.

While reflecting on our teachers, we talked about our sixth grade teacher, a Korean with the Japanese surname, Yagi. He was very tall, the tallest among all the Japanese and Korean teachers. We nicknamed him “girin” or giraffe because of his remarkably long neck. After listening to what he had to say each morning before class, we realized he was a very nationalistic Korean with strong anti-Japanese sentiment. He often admonished us sternly, saying, “Don't let the Japanese look down on you and call you filthy pigs. We should let them know we are smarter than they are.” He was a truly extraordinary teacher. Although my artist dream has never been materialized, I am eternally grateful to him because he gave me an ambition in life and always spoke highly of my talent and encouraged me to go to the prestigious Ueno (now Tokyo) Art University.

Yi Woo-won (yiwoowon1988@gmail.com) lives in Waegwan, North Gyeongsang Province, and has been writing since 1986.